


"can I pet your dog?"

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Based on a Tumblr Post, Dogs, F/M, Headcanon, Headcanon Accepted, Languages, Missions, Sign Language, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HEADCANON: Clint Barton knows how to say, “can I pet your dog?” in 17 languages.</p><p>#meanwhile Natasha knows how to say ‘don’t mind my friend he’s just lonely’ in all those languages</p>
            </blockquote>





	"can I pet your dog?"

**Author's Note:**

> prompt found [here](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/post/124252940078/singelisilverslippers-bonitabreezy)
> 
> suddenly I just remembered this post exists and had the urge to write a fic about it and here it is. it really got away from me because it's about 3,000 words long and I thought I was only gonna end up writing 1,000 but hey ho.

**1**

The first time it happens they are in France, walking down a cobbled street in Paris after a mission that left Clint with a split lip and bloody nose, a bandage placed carefully across the fractured bone as blood dries on his lips. Natasha’s cheek is stinging from a hit she took from one of the men she was fighting but otherwise she is unscathed, just a few blossoming bruises here and there.

They are just coming back from picking up some food for dinner, after having already returned to their hotel room and cleaned up before heading back out to pick up some food. They are making their way back to their shared room, walking side by side down the cobbled street as Clint carries the bags full of food, when he seems to perk up suddenly, making his way over to an older gentlemen and his dog. Natasha quickly follows, confused for a moment as she hears Clint speak to the man in French.

“Je peux caresser votre chien?” he asks, a smile plastered onto his face. The old man has a kind face, withered with age and a white moustache upon his upper lip. He smiles and replies, “Oui, bien sûr,” and Clint eagerly kneels down and begins petting the dog, a golden retriever whose tongue hangs out the side of its mouth, tail wagging against the street floor from where it sits.

Natasha’s French is rusty but she listens to Clint and the man exchange a few words, vaguely understanding Clint ask what the dogs name is, how old it is and what gender. It takes her a moment to understand the man reply with Sam, 6 years and boy. Clint continues to stroke the dog, petting his head before stroking his golden fur down his back and ruffling the thick fur, making the dogs tail thump against the ground. After they talk a while longer, Clint eventually stands and pets the dogs head one last time before thanking the man and waving him goodbye. Natasha waves goodbye to him as well before she links her arm with Clint’s and they continue walking down the street.

“What did you ask him, when you first saw him and the dog?” she asks as they make their way up the steps of their hotel. Clint pushes open the door and lets her walk through first, to which she rolls her eyes but accepts the kind gesture and walks into the well lit reception area, a small room with a front desk and stairs leading up towards the rooms.

“I asked him if I could pet his dog,” Clint replies, letting the door shut behind him as they make their way up the stairs and towards their room.

Natasha nods, glancing back at Clint behind her on the stairs, “Trust you to be such an avid dog lover,” she comments, smiling to herself when she hears Clint laugh behind her.

**2**

The next time it happens they are in Russia and there is an odd sense of feeling almost at home that Natasha can’t shake, even though this is the land that raised her to be the killer she is today, a machine, a monster. She hates what they did to her here, locked away and trained for so many years and yet there is a comfort in the familiarity of the language, her mother tongue that rolls so easily out of her mouth it is as if she never left, even though her voice is not graced with the heavy accent most carry.

They are sat on a bench near a row of coffee, charity and book shops, and Natasha takes a sip from her coffee cup before licking away the cream from her lip. She’s wearing casual clothing, a vest and jacket with skinny jeans and knee high boots that are a near perfect colour match with her light brown jacket. She’s wearing sunglasses against the glare of the summer sun, as is Clint sat beside her, who is wearing baggy jeans, trainers and a navy jacket and light grey shirt combo. His right arm is resting along the back of the bench, almost wrapped around her shoulders as he holds his coffee cup by the tips of his fingers, letting it dangle dangerously close to her side.

“Who are we looking for again?” Clint asks beside her, tipping his head towards her as he scans the people walking along the street or sitting at tables outside the cafes. Natasha takes a sip of her coffee again, relishing in the strong taste that is oddly sweet from the multiple sugar packets she poured into it, and scans the street herself.

“Middle aged woman, white, black hair, brown eyes. Name, Alisa Volkov. Married to guns dealer Mikhail Volkov, who is our primary target. Alisa visits the cafe across the street and usually stops in the bookstore where her mother and sister work, we’re waiting for her to appear.”

Clint nods, bringing his arm that is resting against the back of the bench around Natasha, pushing her closer into his side, so he can grab his coffee with his other hand. He takes a sip and leaves his arm where it is wrapped around Natasha’s shoulders, keeping her pressed close along his side and she leans into the touch, leaning against him as she raises her own cup to take another few sips of her drink and relish in the cream melting on top.

They sit for a while longer, scanning the street for any sign of their target, when Natasha feels Clint straighten beside her and she looks up at him to see him watching someone walking towards them, a dog on a lead pulling them along down the street.

The woman being dragged by her dog towards them is tall, with blonde hair scrapped back into a stylish ponytail that sweeps past her shoulders and brushes down the back of her dark grey jacket. Her black heels click against the pavement and her lips are a startling red in contrast to the dark colours of her clothes. She looks like a business woman, heels, tights, knee length skirt and blouse all in black, the jacket the only source of grey and her lips the only source of any bright colours. Her dog, a dalmatian, is happily pulling her along and when the dog gets close enough, it leaps towards Clint and plants its paws onto his spread knees, tail wagging excitedly and tongue lolling.

Natasha smiles, sure that if Clint had a tail it would be wagging just as excitedly as the dalmations in front of them. The dog’s owner pulls on the lead, trying to rein her dog back in as she apologises profusely for her dog's behaviour. Clint is barely taking notice of her apologies as he grins at the dog, transferring his coffee cup back to the hand resting against Natasha so he has a free hand to pet the dog. He reaches out to pet the dog before he stops and looks up towards the woman. He struggles as he asks, in broken Russian, “Могу ли я погладить Вашу собаку?”

The woman looks almost confused for a moment, seeming to not entirely understand Clint’s broken Russian and so Natasha chimes in for him, understanding what he was trying to ask, “Вы не против, если мой друг погладит Вашу собаку? Ему одиноко.”

Smiling, the woman agrees, apologising once more for her dog's behaviour but Clint seems unfazed as he strokes the dogs back and ruffles the fine and short fur, petting its head and scratching at its ears. He asks Natasha to ask the woman what the dogs called and Natasha obliges, looking up at the woman and asking her. The woman replies that her dog is named Krasa and she’s coming up to her 2nd birthday. The woman gives an almost bashful smile as she comments on what an excitable puppy she has as her dog begins to whine happily at Clint stroking her silky fur. Natasha even reaches out and scratches the underside of the dog's chin, making the dog whine happily in response.

After a moment, the woman moves on, waving goodbye and smiling at the two of them as the dog barks happily and follows her owner along the street. Clint settles back against the bench and squeezes his arm around Natasha’s shoulders lightly as she finishes the rest of her drink, almost forgotten in the excitement of meeting another dog.

“If you had a tail Clint, I’m pretty sure it would have been wagging just as excited as Krasa’s,” Natasha comments, almost snuggling back against Clint’s side. He smiles at her, lolling his tongue out and panting quickly in imitation of a gleeful dog and she stifles a laugh at the ridiculous sight. When she looks back up, she spots their target making her way from inside the coffee shop towards the bookstore further down the street and Natasha watches her push open the door and walk inside.

Glancing up at Clint, she can tell he’s just watched their target walk into the bookstore as well. He looks down at Natasha and shrugs, smiling lightly as he says, “Back to work,” and they get up to head across the street and towards the bookstore.

**3**

It’s a while before Natasha realizes that although Clint is fluent in quite a few languages, he only learns how to ask, “Can I pet your dog?” in the languages he is not familiar with. She finds this out when they are told their next mission is in Denmark and she finds Clint Googling how to ask the question in Danish, his words sounding unfamiliar and broken as they stumble out of his mouth. By the time they are ready to depart to Denmark however, he can say the words almost fluently, although she can still hear him repeating the question under his breath a few times on the train as they make their way over to their destination. She smiles as she listens to him mumble the words to himself while she watches the breathtaking landscape passing them by outside the train window.

**4**

Their next mission lands them in England, and once again they are walking down the busy high streets, weaving their way through the crowd of shoppers and ecstatic teenagers out of school for the Christmas holidays when Natasha feels Clint straighten beside her and she quickly spots where he is looking. Through the bustle of people manoeuvring their way into shops or out onto the street so they can run back to the cars and go home, there is a young couple making their way down the street, a pug trotting happily beside the man. Clint makes his way over and Natasha follows, almost feeling the urge to roll her eyes at Clint’s gleeful expression.

“Excuse me,” he begins, stopping the couple in their tracks, making them look up at him in curious confusion. Natasha waits for Clint to ask but sees him pause and then he brings up his hands and begins to sign at the man, gesturing his hands with fluid motions. The man looks surprised for a moment before his expression changes to joy and he eagerly signs back, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. It’s then that Natasha notices the hearing aids in both of the man’s ears and another hearing aid in one of the woman’s.

Clint kneels down and begins petting the pug, ruffling the fur on its head while it yaps at him enthusiastically. Natasha steps closer to the woman and signs to her, asking if she can hear with her other ear. The woman smiles and nods, replying, “Yes, I can. I’m only partially deaf in my right ear but my left is fine. My boyfriend is partially deaf in both ears though and needs his hearing aids to hear most things.”

Natasha nods in understanding and looks towards Clint and the woman’s boyfriend, both signing enthusiastically at each other, Clint stroking the excited pug when the it’s the man’s turn to sign.

“Don’t mind my friend,” Natasha says, glancing back at the woman who is also looking at the two men, “he’s just lonely.”

The woman laughs and holds out her hand for Natasha to shake, “I’m Ruby by the way. My boyfriend’s name is Max.”

Natasha reaches out to shake her hand, pausing for a moment to wonder if she should reveal their actual names to these strangers and decides they are more than likely safe in doing so, “Nat. My friend’s name is Clint.”

Nodding, the woman smiles and then pauses for a moment before continuing, “Just a friend?”

Natasha’s eyebrows rise at the question, causing the woman to smile almost bashfully. She looks back over towards the two men and comments, “I just assumed you might be closer is all.”

Looking back over towards the two men, Natasha studies Clint thoughtfully. She takes in his unkempt hair and kind eyes, hard around the edges from years of being on the field but always keeping their warmth. He looks so _normal_ , petting the dog and signing with the owner, looking almost carefree, the only giveaway of the more secretive lifestyle he leads being the bruise blooming beneath his chin, just along his jawline from a previous mission, and a healing cut held together with three butterfly stitches on his temple by his hairline. She watches him pet the dog one last time and stand from his kneeling position, signing something at the man before which makes him laugh.

When Natasha looks back towards the woman, she’s already looking at Natasha with a soft but knowing smile and Natasha glances away again, stepping towards Clint to close the short distance that had appeared between the men and woman as they held separate conversations.

“Thank you,” Natasha says to the couple, giving them an easy smile and the couple wave their goodbyes before wandering off down the street, pug in tow at their side. Natasha links her arm with Clint’s and leans into his side, wrapping her other arm around his as well as they begin to make their way down the opposite street. He glances down at her for a moment in puzzlement but gives a soft smile and happily accepts the display of affection as Natasha leans her head against his shoulder. They don’t say anything as they continue to make their way back down the busy streets.

**5**

They are in Turkey this time, enjoying the hot sun and pale beach as they sunbathe on wooden longue chairs covered with white cushions. Natasha’s dressed in a white bikini top and bottom with a loose turquoise wrap cinched around her middle, while Clint is wearing dark purple swimming trunks with a floral print that’s hard to see.

“Sometimes our missions really have their perks,” Clint says, lifting his sunglasses from his face and pushing them up to rest in his hair. He leans over his chair to the space between them where a small side table sits, both of their fruity and multicoloured drinks perched atop the glass surface. There’s a blue umbrella sticking out of Clint’s glass and he moves it out of the way so he can take a sip.

Natasha hums in reply and reaches over to retrieve her own drink, a mixture of orange and red with a splash of something pink near the surface. She moves her red umbrella out of the way and takes a sip before replacing it back onto the side table. Settling herself back against the lounge chair, she flicks her gaze over to Clint who is sitting upright, drink in hand and eyes locked onto someone walking further down along the beach by the seafront. She sits up and looks over and rolls her eyes because of course, Clint’s spotted a dog.

He looks over towards Natasha with an excited grin and it’s almost as if he’s asking for permission to run over and say hi to the dog and its owner. She sighs dramatically, as if it’s a burden, and says that yes, he can go over and pet the dog. Her reply is Clint springing up and practically running towards the dog owner, but he manages to stifle his excitement and merely jog over towards the two. After a moment’s hesitation, Natasha gets up from her comfortable lounging position and walks over to join Clint.

As she draws near, she can hear him ask the faintly startled man, “Ben senin köpek hayvan miyim?”

“Arkadaşım sakıncası yoksa, o sadece yalnız,” she says easily as she comes to stand beside Clint. The dog owner is an older gentleman, mid forties with dark hair that’s greying at the sides and dark skin that glistens with sweat from the hot sun. There’s a gold chain with a cross hanging around his neck and resting against his chest, which is mattered with greying hair.

The man laughs at Natasha’s comment and replies to Clint that yes, he can pet his dog. His dog in question is an akbash breed with a lovely white coat and warm hazel eyes. The owner tells them that his pretty dog is named Lydia and when Clint enquires as to how old she is, the man replies that she is 3 years old and still as playful as she was when she was a puppy. Clint comments on how she’s still a lovely puppy while he rubs the dog’s belly, who has rolled over in the sand with her tongue lolling from her open mouth. The man laughs again and agrees.

They don’t keep the man long, only talking to him for a while as Clint pets his dog before they let him go with a smile and wave. The man continues his walk down the beach and the dog follows without a lead, splashing in the water washing up to the shore and Clint and Natasha begin to make their way back towards their lounge chairs and possibly melting drinks.

When they reach the area where their lounge chairs are located, Natasha stops Clint by taking his hand in hers and giving it a small tug, making him stop and turn around to look at her. He’s about to open his mouth and ask what’s wrong when Natasha cups his jaw with her free hand and leans up ever so slightly to kiss him. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he cups her cheek and kissing back, closing his eyes and savouring the soft press of her lips against his. When she pulls back she gives him a small and genuine smile that makes his heart flutter in his chest; it’s like watching the sun shine out from behind clouds and for a moment he’s breathless from the sight.

“What was that for?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips and she ducks her head slightly, almost shyly, and says, “I wanted to.”

There’s more to that sentence than what’s being said but his expressions softens because he knows what she’s really saying and it makes his chest feel warm and his stomach light. He gently cups the back of her neck and pulls her forward ever so slightly so he can press a chaste kiss to the top of her head. They return to their lounge chairs, settling down against the cushions, and let their loosely held hands swing in the space between them.

**+1**

“How many languages can you speak, Clint?” Tony asks as he walks into the kitchen and pours himself a mug of coffee. Natasha sips at her own sugary coffee from her position at the kitchen island, her legs crossed where she’s perched on one of the stools. Clint is sat beside her, eating a bowl of cereal.

“Seventeen,” is his reply around a mouthful of milk and cereal and Natasha snorts, causing Tony to look her way and raise an eyebrow.

“He can’t speak seventeen languages, at least not fluently,” she clarifies, taking another sip of her coffee. When Tony makes a gesture for her to continue and explain what she means, she puts down her mug and casts a quick glance over towards Clint.

“He knows how to ask, “Can I pet your dog?” in seventeen languages. He can only fluently speak about eight different languages.”

“Nine, almost, I’m learning Hungarian,” is Clint’s comment on the matter before he places the bowl to his mouth and tips his head and the bowl back so he can drink the rest of the milk left. Tony wrinkles his nose in disgust of the slurping noises Clint is making but the archer pays him no mind. Tony returns his gaze to Natasha as Steve walks into the room and grabs for the coffee maker, and asks, “How many languages are you fluent in?”

She thinks for a moment, calculating the amount of languages she’s able to speak and concludes with, “Twelve so far. Seventeen overall if you count how many languages I’ve learned how to give a response to people who Clint asks if he can pet their dogs.”

Tony leans against the kitchen island, taking a swig from his coffee cup before asking, “What do you tell the dog owners Clint harasses?”

Clint gives Tony a glare while Natasha shrugs and replies, “I usually tell them, “Don’t mind my friend, he’s just lonely.””

From behind Tony, Steve puts his mug down on the counter as he gives a startled laugh at her response and Clint rolls his eyes but gives a small smile as Natasha leans over from her seat and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. He reaches down and entwines his hand in hers while Tony shakes his head and walks out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms) and [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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